


The Angel's Singing Sweet

by arabellavidal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Book Canon elements, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon Snow may be a Targaryen, Sibling Bonding, Spoilers 6x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabellavidal/pseuds/arabellavidal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa reveals a possibly devastating secret when she and Jon have found trust in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel's Singing Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Complete for now. I might continue because there is more in my mind for this but no time to write soon. Constructive criticism welcomed.

Sansa glided into the darkened bedchamber and climbed onto the foot of the bed, settling herself comfortably amongst the furs.

  
Jon stirred languorously underneath them and slowly opened his eyes, focusing them upon his sister. "What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

  
She pulled her knees up under her chin. "Littlefinger is playing manipulator again."

  
Jon raised himself up on his elbows, sighing. "What does he want this time?"

  
Sansa reddened, her eyes dropping to her right hand that was fidgeting on the furs beside her. "I don't think I can tell you. Not this time."

  
He picked up her hand tenderly in his and drew her towards him until she was lying in his arms. "Surely he realizes that you're under my protection?"

  
"It's not that." Sansa moved a little uneasily.

  
"Then what?' he tried to look down into her eyes but she refused to lift her gaze.

  
"He thinks I should seduce you."

  
Jon gave a startled bark of laughter. "Really?" He brought the hand still in his to his lips. "Lannisters, are we?"

  
"Not Lannisters. Targaryens," she whispered. She was quiet for a long moment. "I sometimes think I will never lie with another man ever again."

  
Jon smirked. "How scandalous!" Sansa finally turned her eyes to his.

  
"What, Jon? What is so amusing?" she sounded a bit irritated at his seeming insensitivity.

  
He smiled tenderly at her. "What an innocent you are, my sweet sister! Here I was thinking you were confessing your love for the Lady Melisandre!" Sansa looked briefly shocked before burying her face in his chest, giggling like the young girl she had forgotten she was.

  
Jon's chest felt lightened with happiness. They had both healed considerably since their re-union. She was re-learning to trust caring touches and becoming more tactile in showing her affections to him. He was re-learning the value of humour and it's power to deepen a loving relationship.

  
When her mirth had subsided, they lay quietly, comfortably against each other, Jon stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

  
"What's the difference?" Jon asked curiously.

  
"Hmm?"

  
"Why Targaryens?"

  
She suddenly pulled herself out of his arms, slid off the bed and began to pace before the fire. Jon sat up, his stockinged feet hanging down the side. "Sansa?"

  
She turned towards him abruptly. "Jon, I love you. You're my brother and I don't want to lose you." There was a sad desperation in her voice.

  
"My dear, what is it? Unless you did come here intending to seduce me, which I don't think you did, there's something else that's worrying you."

  
Sansa stared at him wide-eyed, wringing her hands. "I don't want to tell you."

  
He stood and walked to her. She clutched the doublet over his chest and gazed determinedly into his eyes. "You're my brother, Jon," she repeated firmly.

  
He put his hands gently over hers and reassured her, "Yes. Whatever that snake said to distress you won't change that. He is jealous, my dear. He thought his aid in the battle for Winterfell would win him your trust and closeness. He sees that I have those from you and is trying to drive a wedge between us."

  
She closed her eyes. "I know that. But there's more, Jon. He wants to strike at your claim as King of Winter." Her lashes fluttered open. "He suggested that you're Aunt Lyanna's son, that Father might not be your father, that you're a Targaryen bastard unfit by birth to rule the North." She sounded miserable.

  
Jon stared at her, terror snaking into his heart. He clutched her hands tighter against his chest.

  
"Do you believe him?" his voice trembling with the realization that she knew Littlefinger enough to tell whether he was lying or not.

  
"I think he is grasping at straws to get what he wants. It doesn't matter to him if it's not true. All that is important is for the suspicion to be planted in my mind and through me to the Northern lords that support you." She licked her lips nervously. "Jon, I'm afraid."

  
He let her hands go and stepped away from her. "You do believe it," he accused.

  
Sansa pulled in a shaking breath. "I didn't want to tell you. You would have found out, though, soon enough. He won't stop with me if he sees nothing has changed between us."  
"Well, then? Has it changed? Do you believe him?" His tone was forceful and his eyes were hardening as they never had when upon her.

  
She wrapped her arms around herself. "It hadn't until I told you!" she whined.

  
She was right. She suspected before she came to him tonight yet she hadn't behaved any differently towards him than she had recently begun to. She still sought his comfort and reassurance. It was him who had let go. Him who had changed things. But how could he not? The mere suggestion of his not being Eddard Stark's son was enough to shake his entire being. He had spent his life in dismay at not having a place in Lady Catelyn's household but had always been heartened by the reminder from his father, from Arya and his other siblings that he at least had their acceptance and love as a son and brother. It was the only thing that lessened his guilt at being named Robb's heir, taking the place that Bran could not while he was beyond the Wall, that Rickon could not claim in death, that his sisters could not have because Robb's will disinherited them. It was the only thing that gave him the right to protect Sansa from all who would harm her. The mere idea that he was the product of rape as Ramsay had been and not the product of a mutual, if dishonourable alliance that men usually made, was enough to throw his soul off balance. If he was not honourable Ned's honourable bastard, then how could Sansa still trust him? How could anyone?

  
"Oh, Jon, don't! Please don't!" She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I still love you. It doesn't matter who fathered you. You are Father's son! _He_ raised you, not some Targaryen from the South. Do not doubt Father at least. _I don't!_ "

  
She curled her hands around his face and brushed the tears he hadn't been aware of till now. He clutched her dress desperately around her middle and searched her lovely countenance for affirmation of her warming words. All he found was a grave and anxious honesty. He let out a trembling breath and some of the despair left his heart. At least he had her. She believed in him. She would help him through the rest as she had been doing for him (and him for her) since Castle Black.

  
His let his forehead rest against hers and closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet trust she had in him, refusing to let her go for the moment.


End file.
